


so eden sank to grief

by pied_pollo



Series: Nothing Gold Can Stay [6]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, And hands, Bad Guy Window, Drunk Malcolm, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e01 Pilot, Episode: s01e02 Annihilator, Episode: s01e04 Designer Complicity, Episode: s01e05 The Trip, Episode: s01e12 Internal Affairs, Episode: s01e13 Wait and Hope, Episode: s01e20 Like Father ..., F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Night Terrors, Not Really?, Parent Death, Post-Episode: s01e11 Alone Time, Right?, Sadness, Suicidal Thoughts, The Incident, all the fun stuff!, but not even, generic daddy issues, high Malcolm, i'm too lazy to tag it all because this took a very long time to write and i'm really sorryyyy, just about, more like thoughts on malcolm's self-destructive behavior, most everything is canon here, obviously, of course, oh boy it's a long one, oh right flowers at one point, snake bites, so um yep, super vague because i didn't really know how to write it but eh, we love vague objects used as motifs in our writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25948237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pied_pollo/pseuds/pied_pollo
Summary: She promised herself she'd never to go back, but here they were.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & Dani Powell
Series: Nothing Gold Can Stay [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824919
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	so eden sank to grief

The weather is too nice for a funeral.

Dani is the last one standing over her father’s grave, holding a bouquet of shimmering golden flowers that she knows will be gone in a few days. She places them over the dirt, over her father’s corpse, if only for the temporary comfort. The soil is rich and soft and warm, and Dani lets her knees sink down into the earth for a moment, trying to feel something other than the acrid smells of death and incense.

Her father’s hands were warm, too.

Dani scoops up the dirt and lets it slide through her fingers, imagining just for a moment that he’s there. It’s not the same, but it’s better than after, when she stands up and brushes the soil and leaves from her hands. It’s better than after, when she lets her arms drop to the side and feels nothing but the empty air. It’s better than after, when she turns almost robotically and walks home alone.

Mingled with the hush of falling amber leaves is the knowledge that every flower in the cemetery will die, and every person in the world will leave with cold hands.

* * *

Her childhood is empty, like the torn pages of an old book. There’s not a lot in the moments after her father’s death and the moments before she joins the NYPD, but somewhere in between, there is a man. Somewhere in between, there is a glass of whisky in her hand. Somewhere in between, there is an understanding smile that doesn’t reach the eyes. Somewhere in between, she meets Gil Arroyo, who has a fatherliness Dani didn’t know she missed and wise words that she didn’t know she needed to hear.

The application is submitted and approved, and the pages start to fill again when somewhere in between, Dani starts living for something other than herself.

* * *

There is another man that she doesn’t mention, a man she thought she trusted, a man she convinced herself was good to her until she couldn’t lie anymore, not even to herself. 

Dani cuts the relationship off after six months and wonders why she didn’t do it sooner, but the answer comes when she finds herself on the precinct couch, nursing cold and incapable hands once again. On the table is a glass vase with stale water and shriveled flowers; a silent confirmation.

Dani sets her face in stone and promises never to let herself give in, and Gil tells her not to blame herself, but it seems too right not to do.

* * *

The facade works for a while, until she transfers to the Narcotics unit and goes undercover. She’s able to stay away for a while, but then a third man takes her hands in his, and the light is bouncing off Estime’s face, and the music is ringing in their ears, and Dani remembers what it’s like to feel something other than a gaping hole where a friend should be.

It doesn’t last, but she should have expected that.

* * *

She transfers back to Gil, who has since recruited another officer for their little broken family. JT’s stoicism is a surprising weight off Dani’s chest, and when he taps her on the shoulder, his touch is purely professional. She’s grateful for that, and it seems that he’s grateful for her level-headedness.

They balance each other out, and most of their work is done in the humdrum of a mellow bullpen, or the cozy silence of someone’s home, the rumble of an unmoving car. Partners don’t usually work like this, but somehow they become a team--her, JT, Gil, and eventually Edrisa--and it’s almost pleasant. Lukewarm. Dani didn’t know it was possible to be close without being _close_ , but it is, and it’s nice.

* * *

They get a lot of homicides, a lot of armed robberies, a lot of gang violence, but never serial killers. It seemed almost impossible, like a boogeyman that parents tell their children about so they behave. It’s only until Dani finds herself in the lobby of the apartment of the third woman slain when it actually starts to feel real.

“ _Are you calling in the feds?_ ”

Dani sighs and mutes the phone. This is the fourth time the mayor’s secretary has called her this month, and she’s starting to regret giving him her phone number. After a moment, she unmutes herself and tries to keep her voice light: “I assure you, sir, we’re doing everything we can, and the FBI has no jurisdiction yet.”

“ _But they can help,_ ” the secretary argues, worry and stress making his voice tight.

It’s then that Gil pushes the doors open, giving Dani an excuse. “I’m sorry, sir, I have to go,” she says, and before the man can argue, she hangs up the phone. Gil walks forward to meet her in the center of the room, and behind him trails a shorter man who’s practically bouncing on his toes.

“Victim is Vanessa Hobbs,” Dani relays, “and the mayor’s office keeps calling. We got a VIC on our hands”

“‘VIC’?” the stranger queries.

“Very Important Cadaver,” Gil explains.

“Medical examiner did a drive-by,” Dani says. “Here’s what I’ve got.”

She’s about to hand Gil the file when his companion leans over to intercept it. “Ooh!” He catches the file and tucks it smoothly under one arm. “I’ll take that. Thank you.”

Dani shoots Gil an annoyed look, and the latter looks just as unamused. “Dani Powell, this is Malcolm Bright,” he mutters, tipping his head pointedly towards the man that is now busying himself with flipping through the pilfered report (and looking all-too-excited about it.) “Psychologist, forensic profiler…” 

Bright doesn’t even look at Dani; he’s too absorbed in his reading. Gil sighs in exasperation.

“...acquired taste.”

* * *

Malcolm Bright looks put together, but the key word is _looks_. 

He walks and talks confidently, with crisp suits and neatly parted hair that speak of wealth and hygiene, stability in the physical and emotional sense. At a glance, Dani would assume that Bright has his life more-or-less intact.

But when she looks closer, she can’t help but notice the dark circles under his eyes, the piece of hair that betrays a restless night. His voice, although indeed confident, is never level, and his body language fluctuates in sync with the frustrated explosions and cracked whispers that leave his mouth. His hands are wild and frantic, like birds.

She learns quickly that Bright has a habit of wreaking havoc on everything to get to the truth, including himself. Dani wonders what happens in the moments they aren’t there to watch him think, when he disappears in the conference room for hours and comes back with a major break.

Apparently, nothing good.

They’re not even done with their first case, this “Copycat Quartet” that Bright had so expertly explained, when she makes the mistake of peeking behind the closed door that usually stays locked. All she can hear are little exclamatory mutters at first, but the tone shifts as she draws closer.

“No,” Bright is mumbling, and Dani furrows her brow. Who is he talking to?

“ _No,_ ” Bright says again, and Dani edges closer. “Don’t…”

“Bright?” she calls quietly, taking a tentative step across the threshold. She can see the top of his head from here, tipped backwards over the edge of the chair.

“Don’t,” Bright breathes. “Don’t...don’t open it.”

“Bright?” Dani calls again, and it’s then that she notices that he’s sleeping. The grip on his pen is loose and his mouth is parted slightly, but when she creeps closer towards him his entire body pulls taut and warning bells go off in her head. Her pulse quickens.

“Don’t--don’t open it!”

Dani starts to walk backwards, and she doesn’t know why until Bright springs from the chair and staggers into the bullpen, colliding with Dani head-on in the process.

They both go down, and Dani tries to break their fall, but Bright is heavier than he looks. She rolls him off of her and narrowly avoids a fist swinging towards her face in the process. Bright’s still asleep, she realizes; thrashing and screaming as he tries to fend off whoever he thinks is attacking him.

“Bright!” she shouts. “Bright, relax, just stop--hey, no, no!”

Their consultant's not the only one in a panic. Dani is suddenly aware of the dozen officers that have leapt from their seats and moved in to diffuse the chaos. A smattering of harsh clicks signal the locked-and-loaded status of their guns.

“No, _no, no_!” Dani shouts, flying to a sitting position and holding out her hand. “ _No, no, wait!”_

The officers just stare in confusion as Bright shoots up, groping blindly for something to hold onto. His hands find Dani’s shirt, and before she knows it, Bright has pulled her into his own shaking form, breathing raggedly. Dani holds him tight and turns her back, shielding Bright from her agitated colleagues.

“He’s asleep!” she shouts above the clamor. “He’s asleep, he’s--Bright, just relax--he's--hey!” 

Minutes that could have just been seconds pass, but Bright is still latched onto her with the ferocity of a caged animal. She pulls around to look in his eyes--terrifyingly wide and wet with unshed tears--and wills the shaking in his body to calm down, but Bright continues to shudder even after the officers pull back. His heart is jackhammering away in his chest; Dani tries to quiet the thrumming in her own ears.

“What’s going on?”

Dani smooths down Bright’s hair to glance up at a very concerned Gil.

“I don’t know,” she replies honestly. “It was an accident, Gil, but it was like...he just started screaming. I think it was a nightmare or something.”

Gil crouches down to their eye level, and Bright finally goes lax, releasing his death grip and planting his hands on the ground. They watch as Bright takes in his surroundings, but he’s so disoriented that Dani keeps her arms around him. He doesn’t push her away.

“Bright?” Gil coaxes.

After a few breaths, the distress slides from Bright’s face. “I’m okay,” he breathes, like he’s trying to convince himself. “It’s okay. Are--is everyone okay?”

Gil wordlessly offers a hand and Bright takes it, letting himself be guided to unsteady feet and ushered swiftly into the former’s office. Dani stays on the floor for a moment before brushing herself off and rising to a standing position, where JT moves forward and holds out a cup of coffee. 

Dani accepts it, but she can’t help but try to peek through the closed door again.

* * *

Third time’s the charm: Dani gets another look inside Bright’s mind, at the end of the case.

She can barely think through the pounding in her head; not hard enough for a concussion, but not exactly a love tap, either. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots her gun, but it’s out of reach. 

Dani realizes with a sinking feeling that she’s about to put her life in the shaky hands of a man she knows nothing about, a man whose first impression was cutting off a victim's hand and exploding a building seconds later. But before Dani can make a move, Bright drops to one knee, holding something in his hand. Whatever it is, it makes Berkhead pause long enough to rethink murdering his wife.

“You want to live up to the Surgeon?” Bright hisses, his voice laced with contempt. “You want to be the perfect student?”

“No,” Berkhead growls, holding one hand out. “No, that’s for Blair!” 

Dani cranes her neck and finally catches it: a syringe. A syringe that Bright is currently pressing into his wrist, a syringe that is starting to puncture the skin as he jerks his head towards Blair and continues: “ _Shooting_ her doesn’t cut it! You need to finish the Quartet.”

Berkhead grits his teeth. His voice is hard and dangerous: “You don’t deserve it.”

Bright doesn’t flinch; rather, he softens, almost crumples as he rests on his bent leg. “That’s the thing,” he says quietly, and Dani has to strain her ears to catch what he’s saying. “I do deserve the Surgeon’s pain.” A swallow, like he’s hesitating, and then the bomb drops: “Because I’m his son.”

Dani stares. Berhead stares. Bright shifts his glance to both of them before pursing his mouth and squeezing his eyes shut. After a beat, he reopens them halfway.

“My real name is Malcolm Whitly,” he confesses, and it’s almost as if the light has died from his eyes. “I changed it...because I wanted to get away from him. See, I always thought I was afraid of my father...and everything he taught me. But really?” He looks back up, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I was afraid of me. So...I betrayed him.” 

His body language shifts in that moment, so suddenly rigid that Dani and Berkhead move back ever so slightly. Bright’s voice hardens and his head lowers, like he’s trying to force something out--confidence, anger, _anything_ if only to mask the tremble in his voice as he pours out his life story. “I became a profiler, and _hunted down_ people like him.”

And then the dominant half-kneel is short-lived. Bright rises to his feet and Berkhead matches his pace, eyes trained on the syringe that’s digging deeper into his arm but not yet breaking the skin. He looks limper, now; weak but not weak, because his eyes are shining with a newfound determination, but his body isn’t doing a very good job of showing it in his posture.

“So now’s your chance, Carter,” Bright concludes. His voice is terribly quiet, terribly calm. “Now’s your chance to kill me.”

“Bright,” Dani bursts out, because she is _not_ about to watch this happen. “Bright!”

He doesn’t hear her; in fact, it seems that he's talking to himself now when he whispers, “His _prodigal_ son.”

“Bright, no!”

“I’m willing to let go.” It almost sounds like a reminder.

“ _Bright_ , stop!”

Before JT kicks the door open and fires two shots into their suspect, Dani catches a glimpse of something in Bright’s eyes that sends a chill up her spine. She knows he gets excited at a crime scene, but not like this--not with the way he leans forward on his toes, arm outstretched, mouth parted like he’s watching something unfold in front of him. With a sinking realization, Dani is able to nail his expression down to hope, to acceptance, to awe--everything he _shouldn’t_ be feeling right now.

Like earlier, Dani finds herself reaching for Bright as he deflates, dropping to both knees and curling his arms around his torso protectively. She scoots forward and takes his chin in her hand; his face is shining with what could be a light sheen of sweat or could just be tears. His eyes are unfocused and dull.

Disappointment.

“You okay?” Dani asks, and she’s not just talking about Bright’s physical well-being. “Are you okay?”

He finally fixes his glassy eyes on her mouth.

“You weren’t gonna let him do that, right?” Dani asserts, because it’s not much of a question, but a confirmation: _You weren’t going to do that. I wasn’t about to see that. Tell me what I thought you said wasn’t true._

“Of course not,” Bright sighs, sitting back on his heels. “That’d be crazy.”

She doesn’t trust his answer, and frankly, he doesn’t seem to either, but none of them call out the lie, so it hangs, unmentioned, in the damp and empty air.

* * *

The problem with learning about death at such a young age is that you spend your entire life wondering how everyone you know is going to die, and which one of them is going to do it first.

It doesn’t take long for Dani to learn that it’s probably going to be Bright.

She notices that he never speaks triumphantly without tear tracks drying on his face, never talks down a killer without a tremor in his hand, never speaks quietly without hunching his shoulders, as if he’s bearing a terribly heavy weight--and maybe he is.

It’s only their second case together when Bright lands himself in the hospital.

 _He wasn’t even supposed to_ be _there, Gil had ordered him to stay in the car. They were all frustrated with him, but the situation was escalating too quickly for anyone to find the time to scold him. Bright stayed._

_Big mistake._

Dani sighed and tried to settle the trembling in her hands. She shouldn’t get so riled up about the death of someone she barely knew--even more, a man she barely knew who didn’t even end up dead--but here she was, driving a very wasted but very alive Bright home to his apartment.

_A crash. Dani raced over to a clearing in the warehouse to find Bright scrambling to his feet and pointing. “That way!”_

_He didn’t seem to notice the snake fixing its teeth in his wrist._

Professionalism is something Dani’s very good at--keeping calm under pressure, keeping stone-faced in the presence of hysterical people. But for some reason, she found herself softening faster, panicking faster, and it felt bad, like her old self. Her old, weak self that she thought she’d left behind.

_Dani swallowed. “Um, Bright?” she asked tentatively._

_Bright looked down and quickly yanked the snake off of him, grimacing and laughing against the pain. Before Dani could ask if that was poisonous, he waved her off almost dismissively._

_“It’s fine,” he reassured her, “it’s fine. Probably not even--”_

_He hit the ground hard._

Bright’s asleep against the window when Dani finally pulls up to his apartment. She debates whether to wait for him to wake up or manhandle him out of the car, and with a reluctant sigh, she opens his door and shakes his shoulder. When she gets no response, Dani grabs his arm and pulls.

_Dani cursed and fell to her knees at Bright’s side. His jaw was fixed shut, and at first he seemed confused. His eyes darted around and it looked as if he was trying to move his arms somewhere, but his hands only jerked a little bit and stayed where they were, too heavy to lift. Dani pulled out her phone._

_“This is Detective Powell with the 1-6,” she said hurriedly, “I’ve got a 10-13, I need an ambulance.”_

_“Sending assistance,” a voice chimed back, and Dani hung up the phone and tossed it to the side._

The pulling seemed to wake Bright enough for him to slide out of the car, a mess of gangling, weaving limbs. He seems too out of it to tell which way is up, so Dani keeps her hold on his bicep and tugs him to the door, where Bright fumbles with his keys and misses the lock by a foot.

_Bright groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body locked up tight, and sweat rolled down his face. Dani’s hands fluttered over him, unsure of what she could touch safely, and settled on checking his pulse. It shot rapidfire under her fingertips, but it was weak and thready, and Dani’s own chest squeezed._

_“Hang on,” she murmured, more to herself than Bright. “Hang on.”_

_Bright’s arm flopped, loose and uncoordinated, and the hand that had been bitten jerked unsteadily. Dani could feel the heat pulsing off his body, could feel the wheezing breaths sliding past gritted teeth, and Bright rolled his head around the floor as he started to panic._

She guides him up the stairs, and he keeps one hand on her shoulder, the top of his head grazing the wall. They stop for breath at the top and eventually, Bright whips out his keys again, aiming carefully and hitting the lock. Dani realizes that this is probably the longest time Bright has stayed quiet in front of her (or maybe in his life?)

_“Bright,” Dani called, trying to sound calm, “I need you to look at me, okay? You’re gonna be fine. Just breathe.”_

_He seemed to be able to hear and understand her, but his movements were still loose and tight at the same time, and his eyes slid shut. Dani tried to stifle her own heart-hammering fear and took his face in her hands, jostling him and wondering how much it hurt._

_Bright opened his eyes, but as soon as he did, his chest stilled. Dani wasn’t able to mask her fear, and neither was he, because he tried to pry his mouth open to take in a ragged breath, but he couldn’t, and Dani kept telling him to breathe, but he couldn’t, and both of them tried to keep him awake, but he couldn’t, and Dani kept begging him not to die even after the EMTs came and JT ushered her into the car._

“You know, you didn’t have to escort me,” Bright mumbles as he pushes open the door. “I told you; I was just gonna go home and sleep.”

“Were you, though?” Dani asks suspiciously, letting him plop to the floor and struggle with his shoes.

“Yeah.”

She takes in his apartment, which would’ve been nice if not for the decorative display of weapons on one wall. “You...sure do have a lot of blades.”

Bright’s unfazed. “Yep! Blunt force weapons as well.” He’s able to get his shoes off and tosses them lazily at the wall. “The morning star is, uh...from the thirteenth century.”

“I guess it’s good to have hobbies,” Dani replies awkwardly, and then adds surprisedly: “Is that a parakeet?”

Bright stumbles to the bed and drags himself up to a wobbly kneel, before giving up and landing on his hip on the covers. “Yeah,” he slurs. “Don’ make it weird.”

Dani’s pretty sure she isn’t the weird one in this situation, but she stays silent until Bright leans over to swipe a pair of restraints-- _restraints?_ \--from the side of the bed. “How do you sleep like that?”

Bright grins drunkenly and wags his finger. “Ah, who says I sleep?” He turns back to buckling one of his wrists in. “These are for the night terrors.”

“What do you do when you…have company?”

She doesn’t expect what sort of answer Bright’s going to give her, but he finally blurts out: “Well, I’ve never _slept_ with anyone.” His eyes widen and he realizes his mistake. “ _I mean!_ I’m not a…” His voice dissolves into a fit of giggles, and Dani tries to maintain a straight face as he then confidently assures her that “I’ve had sex.” And then, like he’s making sure she gets the point: “ _Plenty_ of sex.”

“I get it. I got it.”

Bright tips over to grab the other restraint, but he’s--well, _restrained-_ -and the line jerks him back against the bed. He lets out another amused chuckle.

“Are you having some trouble?” Dani asks, as if she’s speaking to a child (and she kind of is, right?)

“My hand-to-eye coordination is a _little_ bit lacking,” Bright admits.

“You want me to help?”

A soft smile. “That’d be great.”

“Okay.”

She buckles him in smoothly, and Bright flops backwards onto the bed. “So, is this the, um...craziest thing you've ever seen?” he murmurs.

Compared to everything that had happened _before_ tonight? “Not even close,” Dani replies.

Whatever Bright says is incomprehensible; he’s asleep in seconds. Dani stands up to leave, and the sight of his chest rising and falling again is enough to ease the tension out of her body.

Bright’s had more near-death experiences in a month than anyone in their little team has _ever_ had, but it doesn’t seem to faze him; in fact, he always seems to brush it off like it’s no big deal. There’s a part of Dani that wonders if Bright believes that his pain isn’t valid, if he believes that he’s never hurt badly enough to be taken seriously.

Maybe he just doesn’t like to be fussed over. Or maybe he doesn’t think he deserves any comfort.

* * *

“Trust beats fear.”

Bright says it so casually, but the three words stick with Dani for a while, and she rolls it over in her head, in her mouth: _Trust beats fear. Trust beats fear._ There’s something not right about the statement, and Dani is finally able to to conclude that this is because it isn’t true--trust _enhances_ fear. Every time Dani has trusted someone, she found herself in an uncharacteristically vulnerable situation, so for once, Bright was wrong.

* * *

She promised herself she’d never go back, but here she was, in her old haunts, staring at none other than Xavier Estime, whose tone is cool and eyes are bright, as if he was expecting this. What he _doesn’t_ expect is the fact that Dani didn’t come alone.

(Well, she _was_ going to come alone at first, but Bright happened to be there, against Gil’s direct orders, no less. She should’ve expected that, really, but Estime doesn't need to know that.)

This isn’t Bright’s scene, she knows. Her deep thoughts are cut off when he leans over to whisper almost conspiratorially in her ear: “There are a _lot_ of drugs in that box.”

(An intelligent profiler, truly.)

“It’s fine,” she hisses back.

Estime is in the center of the room, and he puts his hands on his hips. “It’s been a minute!” he remarks. “You look… _better_...since I last saw you.”

Dani can feel Malcolm’s curious gaze burning a hole into the back of her head, but she doesn’t react to Estime’s comment. Estime tips his head towards Bright. “He a cop, too?”

Malcolm opens his mouth, probably ready to insist he’s a _consultant_ , but Dani shoots him a look and he covers it with: “We’re here about Desir. Who killed him?”

“Does it matter?” Estime gripes. “Everyone thinks it was me.”

“Is everyone right?” Dani counters. “I heard you were his right hand--moving product, women. I told them that wasn’t the Estime that I knew.”

Rather than answering, Estime flashes her a smooth grin. “Come on.” He takes a step forward, arms out like he’s asking her to dance. “Where’s my sweet girl? The one that used to party down?” His arms drop when Dani stays stoic, his expression almost frustrated. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“People change,” Dani says with a small shrug. “For better and for worse.”

Estime scoffs at that. “You forget what I did for you?”

“Why do you think I’m _here?”_ Dani exclaims. “I’m trying to _help_ you. But if you don’t tell me the truth, the cops are gonna be all over you.” When Estime only bites his lip, she quiets, taking a moment to study him before commenting: “You got hard.”

“I grew up,” Estime replies simply. “I had to.”

For a moment, Dani and Estime are locked in a stony staring contest, neither willing to budge. It’s Malcolm who finally breaks the silence: “I have... _so_ many questions.”

“And I’m _answering_ them,” Estime snarls, without breaking eye contact.

Bright just waves his hand dismissively. “They’re all for Dani.” That makes them turn. “How do you know this guy, and what happened between you?”

“What are you _doing?”_ Dani snaps.

“Agreeing with you!” Bright insists. “He’s exhibiting stress reactions a profiler could spot from _space_.”

Dani bites her lip. There are some places you can’t just mouth off at, and this is one of them, but Bright doesn’t back off when Estime stares him down, nor when his voice raises: “Yo, I don’t care who you’re rolling with. I’m not scared, and I _didn’t kill Desir.”_

“I know,” Bright replies, and because he can’t stop there: “you’re posturing; pretending to be hard--‘cause drug dealers are scary,” he adds, with a little flourishing hand gesture that tells everyone he won’t stop talking for a while. “Problem is, you’re not a killer. Dani’s been telling me that all day, and now I see it.”

“What really happened between you and Desir?” Dani presses. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the truth.”

“Desir was my friend,” Estime says. “I loved him like a brother. Tell your people I didn’t do this.”

Dani’s about to say more, but her words are cut off with the sound of gunfire. Everyone drops to the ground as the bullets ricochet off the walls, shattering the Bad Guy Window and digging holes in the floor. Dani gets behind a chair, and just manages to catch Bright toppling to the floor, coughing. It takes a moment to realize the Lot-Of-Drugs Box has ruptured, sending fine white powder into the air.

“Bright! You good?” Dani shouts over the chaos, but her partner doesn’t answer. He rolls onto his side, wheezing, before flopping back onto the ground, blinking hazily up at the ceiling.

The gunfire ceases after a moment, and--just their luck--Gil is pushing through the doors, JT hot on his heels. Both look very rightfully pissed. 

Dani brushes the glass off her shoulders and extends an arm out for Bright to take. He just stares and giggles, before swinging out his hand and missing by a good three feet. Dani settles for grabbing the lapels of his jacket and hauling him upwards. Bright mutters a quiet “thank you” before leaning against the overturned table, his face resigning into an expression that can only be described as _hopelessly_ high.

She really hopes she doesn’t have to babysit again, but before she knows it, they’re at Bright’s loft.

“All right,” she says, as Bright bounces and almost trips over the threshold, “the best thing you can do for the next seven hours is to stay calm and drink a lot of water.”

“Or,” Bright counters, launching onto the couch, “we throw _axes!_ ” 

“What?”

He turns to her and gives finger guns. “You and me; broad-bladed axes! I have _five_ \--no, six…” 

It’s a serious thing for High Bright, and he pauses to collect himself at this tragic realization before shrugging. “Doesn’t matter; we have plenty.”

“No,” Dani replies firmly.

Bright stumbles over to the record player and messes with a few buttons before settling on _Mack the Knife_. “Wow,” he remarks. “God this feeling! My--my neurons are on fire!” Before Dani can reply, he spins around and leaps across the floor towards her. “You know they say that dopamine triggers pleasure, but _really_ , it’s about _desire!”_

Dani finds herself holding his hand, and Bright’s swaying to the music, blinking so giddily at her that all she can muster is “Bright? I am two seconds away from kicking you in the business.”

“Business is good,” Bright assures her, pulling away. “Answer me this, though...”

Silence.

Malcolm laughs, tossing his hands in the air. “Nope; lost it! My short term memory is just…”

Dani steps forward and pats him on the shoulder. “Okay, you know what? Why don’t you go throw some water on your face, and I’ll make us something to eat. Okay?”

Bright seems half-asleep but overdosing on caffeine at the same time, and he nods, before blurting out, “let’s make crumble!”

“Grilled cheese?” Dani suggests.

Bright nods dizzily, then sobers a little. He’s at the weepy stage. “You know what? I’ll never forget this.”

“I’m pretty sure you will,” Dani deadpans.

He ignores her. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“What are friends for?”

This catches Malcolm’s attention. “Wait...we’re friends?”

“No!” Dani exclaims quickly, then curses to herself when Bright deflates into a weepy ball, so she adds: “Well, no, I mean, not really. Not yet.”

Malcolm softens. “I’m out of practice with... _friends_ ,” he admits. “Companionship.”

“That’s all right,” Dani assures him, “I don’t have a lot of friends either.” And because Bright looks curious and he won’t remember this later, she adds: “I got issues with trust. I can’t go there anymore.”

It feels good to say it out loud, even more so when Malcolm replies, quiet and earnest: “You can trust me.”

They stay silent for a little bit, letting the words sink in, before he exclaims proudly--

“I have Jarlsberg!”

\--the sobriety is gone. Malcolm scurries to his fridge, rambling excitedly, and Dani is left wondering when she stopped calling him Bright.

He stuffs the block of cheese at her, and she can’t help but notice that his hands are warm.

* * *

Silence permeated by the steady beeping of a heart monitor. Their conversation is simply words, not much else. The room is simple and minimalistic and very quiet, and no other descriptions are needed except for the fact that Dani gives his hand a reassuring squeeze and places a small vase of flowers on the beside, and the bouquet is still fresh, but Malcolm’s hands are cold, unfamiliar, and above all, they’re _steady_ , and that breaks her heart.

* * *

“Bright?”

No response.

“Bright, open the door.”

Rustling.

“Open the door!”

A mechanical click.

“Bright!”

A steady whir. Something charges up.

“Open the door! _Bright!”_

A clatter.

A buzz.

The lights shut off.

“...Bright?”

Minutes pass, and in the dark, Dani’s hopes sputter, then dissipate. In the dark, she readies herself. In the dark, there’s silence, as everyone stops what they’re doing and the world stands still.

“Bright.”

She doesn’t expect an answer, and she doesn’t get one.

“Malcolm.”

He did seem like the type to die young, she realizes.

“Open...open the door.”

But was this really how he was meant to go? Dani thinks for an uneasy moment--

_I’m willing to let go._

\--and decides that she doesn’t have an answer for that, or maybe she just doesn’t want to _know_ the answer.

“I’ve got it.”

It turns out that she doesn’t need to think about it, when the lights flicker back on, and the door creaks open, revealing a very disheveled but very alive Malcolm Bright. His entire body trembles with exhaustion and pain, but there’s also that quiet confirmation of existence; the steady, ever-thrumming beat of _not yet._

* * *

It’s not until Malcolm is coughing up smoke on top of Gil’s car that Dani wonders what he was going to say. 

_“Okay, turn of events! This mine is definitely not stable, which means I have to speak quickly. JT; auction houses will have records of the gun’s sale. Gil; the killer identifies as the Count, which means that the victim would have deemed him inferior or unworthy in some way. And Dani...”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“...Never mind. Go! I’ve got a plan!”_

What was he thinking in that moment, with a pistol in one hand and a landmine underneath the other? Did the thought of dying ever cross his mind? And if it did, why were his potential last words about the case and not ‘goodbye’?

* * *

Gil is dying--hell, maybe he’s dead already--but despite that, Malcolm reaches out for Dani in the hospital. 

His fingers graze the top of her hand--hesitant at first, like he isn’t sure if it’s fine to do--and after a moment, the touch deepens and their fingers interlace in a loose grip. His hand is warm.

It’s enough to break the dam; Dani lets the tears fall, lets her face crumple, lets her body give in to the fear, and Malcolm not only stays for her, but _smiles_ for her. He has a habit of doing that--joking through the tears and laughing through the pain--and it’s not unlike sunbeams cutting through storm clouds; a lollipop on an empty stomach; wilted flower petals.

Malcolm, she concurs, is like that early-autumn beauty that shows up, uninvited, to a funeral.

Dani wonders for a fleeting moment if that’s why he calls himself _Bright,_ but the thought is gone and replaced by painstaking silence. And after a moment, if only to say it out loud, Dani confesses: “I’m scared.”

“I know,” is Malcolm’s soft reply, and then: “It’s going to be okay.”

Not good. Not bad. Just _okay_. It’s the truth, and it’s enough.

“Trust beats fear,” Dani says, and finally believes it, because she trusts Malcolm, and Malcolm trusts her, and both of them trust things to be simply _okay_. Maybe it won’t be okay tomorrow, but that’s later, when the flowers have died and the music slows to a stop.

Not yet.

The hand in hers lets go, but its warmth stays.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, look! This series is NOT dead! :D 
> 
> Sorry for the long wait, but I hope it was worth it! There are two people left, take a guess at who they are! It's about to get aaaaannnnngggstyyyy.


End file.
